The full title is "Seven Times Dean Winchester Didn't Kill A Fugly And The Two Times He Did." Need I say more? The site wouldn't allow me to put in the entire title. To quote Sam Winchester: "Our lives are weird, man."

The full title is "Seven Times Dean Winchester Didn't Kill A Fugly And The Two Times He Did." Need I say more? The site wouldn't allow me to put in the entire title. To quote Sam Winchester: "Our lives are weird, man."

A/N: This is a one shot, something to give me a break from all the angst of the updates I'm writing. When am I gonna post those? Starting this Tuesday and Wednesday, I promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, Bobby, or anybody else mentioned in this fic.

"What? No! There's the Robinsons' apartment building. We should pull in over there."

The little caped purple dude standing on the curb laughs maniacally when he sees them. Thunder and lightning flash directly overhead, even though the sky is clear everywhere else. "Two hunters. One car. Four wheels. Ah ah ah ah ah!"

"Save the hoodoo for the tourists, Weirdy McToothy. I got my eye on you," Dean snaps as he gets out. He shoulders his duffle. "Better not touch my car, either. I got garlic and you better believe I'm not afraid to use it!"

Sam rolls his eyes.

The Robinsons, Gordon, Susan and Miles, are old friends of Bobby's. Cookie Monster's family comes by to pick him up thirty minutes later. Despite all the fuzzy furry critters around, there's no job here, so the boys hit the road after having lunch at Susan and Gordon's place. Good grub.

00000

"Of, course, Master. We can both fit inside my bottle, if that is what you wish."

Now it's Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "We never get paid and we never get thanked. 'Bout time we got somethin' outta this."

Sam just stares at him.

"What?"

00000

"We had to come over here and check this out," Dean says smoothly. "We just got done taking care of Mr. and Mrs. Pagan God, and it's Christmas time and all. Dude, you can't just show up looking like that and expect people not to wanna take a bite out of you." Dean leers at Yellow. "I'm standing here and I'm having a hard time myself. You're looking finger licking good today, m' man."

Yellow's eyes roll up into his head and he faints dead away.

Red rolls his eyes. "That was so funny I forgot to laugh. What is that, hunter's humor?"

"Dean!" Sam elbows his brother. Dean grins and gives him an elbow right back.

"Ah, lighten up, Sammy, That never gets old."

Red looks Dean and Sam up and down and huffs. "Well, if you two travelling comedians are done, I can't think of a better way to waste my precious time than to stand here talking to you."

Hellboy starts the ball rolling by throwing a couple of amulets on the table. Simple stuff. One's an iron horseshoe. The other talisman has a rabbit's foot on the chain, and Dean tries not to frown up. Rabbits, he thinks to himself. Why does the rabbit always get the short end of the stick?

St. Christopher's medal. Dean's got one too. It's a tie so far. He pulls that Talmudic amulet out of his jacket pocket, follows up with a packet of the hair of St. Ignacious, which is guaranteed to repel evil spirits. Hellboy counters with Davy Crockett's finger bone, which doesn't do jack against spirits, evil or otherwise, but Dean is still mightily impressed, so he grudgingly gives Red points for it anyway.

Knives next. Dean's Kershaw, then his small silver knife, and finally, his Bowie knife.

Hellboy nods. "Nice."

Apparently Big Red doesn't believe in packing weapons of the pointy persuasion. Dean's ahead, then, and he's pretty sure he'll be tucking Red's fifty bucks into his own wallet by the time Sam comes back with the beers and the burgers. This is easy, like picking low hanging fruit.

"Okay." Dean narrows his eyes. Time to pull out the big guns. He reaches into his back waistband and puts his Colt 1911 down on the table.

Dean's favorite piece shines like new money under the lights of the diner.

Hellboy whistles. "Damn, that's a nice one." He shrugs. "I only got this little thing on me right now." He reaches into the pocket of his brown leather duster with his left hand and pulls out a revolver that's just as gynormous as his big red right hand.

Dean's eyes get really wide.

The Good Samaritan.

Hellboy puts it down on the table next to Dean's Colt and the Colt is looking pretty puny right about now. Dean feels himself shrink. Shit.

Hellboy smirks. The contest's over, and they both know it.

Sam comes back. Finally. He balances the heavy tray with both hands and scowls at all the hardware on the table. "Okay. What'd I miss?"

"Damn," Dean whispers softly. "I gotta get me one'a those."

AND THE TWO TIMES HE DID…

"Aw come on, darlin', don't make me do this," Dean yells out. He sidesteps that shower of fairy dust and pulls the trigger on his shotgun. He hates flying in planes and isn't about to start flying on his own now. She avoids the blast and takes off in mid-air in a wide arc, away from him.

"You're just like all the rest," she snarls, and she turns, ready to make another pass at him again. "Bastards, all of you! Lying mortal bastards! I gave him the best years of my life, and this is the thanks I get?"

She doesn't look like she did in the movies or tv. Chick's really let herself go. Dean can smell alcohol and pot mixed in with the smell of pixy dust gone sour. Looks like she's gained a little weight too. Chicks usually go for the chocolate ice cream when they're feeling depressed, Dean thinks.

Not that he'd know anything about that.

She conjures up a lead anvil that looks suspiciously like something Wile E. Coyote would order from the Acme Company. Dean raises his other shotgun with the special loads and waves it at her. It's enough to get her to back off and drop the anvil to the ground.

"Look, I don't usually do this, talk instead of killing your ass on the spot. I'm tryin' to cut you a break here. You're not a bad looking woman. Matter of fact, you're kind of cute. Kinda small, but cute. That Pan dude is not the only guy out here. So he ran off with that Wendy girl. So what? You mean to tell me you couldn't see that comin'?"

Tinkerbell's only answer is an ear piercing shriek that's so loud it makes Dean's eardrums contract painfully. He stumbles backward a couple of steps. Her fingers curl into claws and she launches herself towards him. Dean can feel the killing energy in the air all around her from where he's standing. It prickles his skin, and he knows that if she touches him he's dead meat.

I'm not going anywhere, Dean thinks to himself. Not tonight, anyway. He sighs, points the shotgun and pulls the trigger in one smooth motion.

Sam looks troubled. "I really wish it could have gone another way, Dean. They weren't that bad, especially that taller one. He was kind of…goofy."

Dean closes the driver's side door and shakes his head as he puts the key in the ignition. "Well, maybe not, but they had to go, Sam. Plotting world domination and all. Nobody believed this at first. Everybody thought it was cute and funny. That's how they get 'ya. I might bitch sometimes, but I like this world just the way it is." He huffs. "Mutated white lab rats. What the hell were those eggheads at Acme Labs thinking?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know." He looks solemn for a moment, then grins slightly and says, "Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?"

Dean smirks. "The same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world!"

-30-

That's it, I'm done with this one. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go take my medication.

Reviews are much appreciated.

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